A hundred paper lamps were floating across the river as the sun was going down, scorching everything in moody orange. Jim touched the strips of sunset colors with his cheek, in shiny, shiny leather, and gazed at the magnetic plunges of serial suits and ties, boxer shorts, and bright shirts rolled up. The tender September moments fleeing into the mirroring glass of office buildings, and the chemise of the day was golden, with sneezes and smoke settling snugly into the sparkling air.
Things look different in this effervescent glow, like the light itself highlights the cheekbones of the riverbank, darkens its eyelashes and dilates it’s pupils. Some unreasonably complimentary filter that softens thoughts and faces, and a low electric hum crossing wires and connecting the disconnected souls on alternate sides of the riverbank. Floating frequencies and bridges where there were moats and dissolving moonless September nights in the glistening water.
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